


The Opposite of Expectations

by Romiress



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Green Lantern - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Bottom Hal Jordan, Developing Relationship, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Porn, M/M, POV Hal Jordan, Smut in first chapter, Top Dick Grayson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-17 23:35:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21518296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Romiress/pseuds/Romiress
Summary: Hal really,reallyneeds cash. The very idea of accepting the League's charity sounds like torture, so instead he looks to far more questionable methods of making money.Thankfully, he's got a little bird watching out for him.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Hal Jordan
Comments: 19
Kudos: 158
Collections: Robin Christmas Exchange 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BookofOdym](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BookofOdym/gifts).



> Not based on any one continuity, but most heavily based on Young Justice because it gives me clear ages. (19 / 39)

Hal is almost entirely sure that Batman means well when he tells him about the _Justice League Fund._ The problem is that, no matter how he _means_ it, being pulled aside and told about how the League will totally pay for his living expenses does not come out in any way other than patronizing.

They're supposed to be a team. They're supposed to be on the same level. So when Batman makes the offer, it's hard for Hal to not hear him saying _we are concerned you don't have your shit together_ (not that Batman would ever use those words).

Hal absolutely does have his shit together. He doesn't need the money, and he makes that _very_ clear, earning himself a grunt in return.

Six months later, Hal is _slightly_ regretting being so direct about his refusal.

It's not because he needs the money, no. It's just that his savings are running a bit low, getting a job is proving more difficult than it should, and Hal's running out of people to couch surf with.

So maybe he needs it a bit.

Only getting access to that money means going back to Batman and admitting that, and Hal is _not_ there yet. Maybe after a few nights sleeping out of a cardboard box he'll be there, but he definitely isn't right then.

No, he's still got his pride.

The problem is that he can't eat pride. When he looks, he's got forty dollars to his name, no other place to sleep, and another day at the motel is going to take thirty. He's already pawned almost everything he has (not much), and his possessions really come down to the battery, a case that lets him hide the battery, his junky old cell phone, and two things of instant ramen he can make in the microwave.

Oh, and his laptop. He's been considering cashing it in, but the thing's a piece of junk and Hal's genuinely not sure he could even convince someone to buy it. Hell, he'd feel pretty bad doing so, considering how frequently the damn thing is on the fritz.

He heads out of the motel room with a sigh, heading for the main office. He drops the thirty on the counter with his room key, and then turns to the bulletin board up on the side wall to occupy his time while they ring him through.

There's a lot of ads. Lost dogs, things for sale. Someone's selling a shitty old car for way more than it's worth, and someone else is offering to buy houses in cash.

He's desperate, so he pulls off three different _make money fast_ cards. They're almost definitely scams, but Hal's at exactly that level of desperate.

When he gets back to his room, he uses his phone to call all three. The only reason it still works is because Barry keeps it topped up so Hal can let him know when he gets back from space, and he feels a whole lot like he's taking advantage of that friendship to call some scuzzballs.

The first one starts talking about a hundred dollar up front fee, and when Hal says he doesn't even have a hundred dollars he gets hung up on. The second is hardly any better, and Hal's pretty sure he just called a cult trying to prey on the desperate.

The third, on the other hand, is something else.

"Who is this?" A woman on the other end says.

"I'm... calling about an ad?" Hal says tentatively. "Pulled it off a board?"

"We haven't put an ad on a board in a decade," she says with a laugh. She sounds older, but it's hard to tell. "We're all online now."

"Well, sure," he says. "Give me the address and I'll look it up."

"Sure," she says, "it's Sally's Sugar Babies." Hal's pretty sure his brain stops working halfway through. "All one word. Dot com. Remember the s on _Sally's."_

Sugar babies.

"...And you're Sally?"

"The one and only, honey."

Hal doesn't know what to do with that information, so he thanks her for her time and hangs up, flopping back onto the bed.

Sugar babies. Or sugar _baby,_ in this case. Is he really that desperate?

Yes, he decides. He really is that desperate.

He pulls out his laptop. It's such a piece of crap he's forced to actually plug it into the wall just to get it to work, and then the wifi isn't working either (could be the motel, could be the laptop giving up the ghost) so he has to plug in at the tiny little desk the motel provides. He feels cramped as he heads over to the site he was given, and it looks...

Well, not actually that bad, now that he's looking at it. It looks sleek and professional. Well put together. Relatively secure.

 _You can't eat pride,_ Hal reminds himself, and signs himself up.

But of course no one's really interested in a thirty-nine year old man, so the ad goes unanswered. It doesn't matter anyway: Barry calls him the following morning to let him know his couch is free, and after that Hal forgets about the whole thing.

* * *

It's been three weeks since Hal signed himself up when he gets a call. He answers, because _no one_ calls him, so he figures it must be important.

"This Hal Jordan?" A woman says. The voice sounds familiar, but he can't quite place it.

"Yeah, thats me?"

He doesn't think he actually owes anyone any money, which means he can cross that one out, but that doesn't give him any sort of answer as to why someone's calling him.

"You checked your email lately?"

The answer is no. Hal hasn't looked at his email in ages.

"My laptop broke," he admits. "Haven't had time to replace it. Sorry, who is this?"

"It's Sally," she says, and it takes him a second to place it.

"From... the Sugar Baby site?"

"Listen, I don't normally do this kind of call," she says, "but you have a _very_ interested Daddy, and I remembered you calling me and sounding kind of desperate."

Hal sags down onto the couch that's currently his bed with a sigh. That's him, isn't it? _Desperate._

"That changed?" She asks.

"Not really, no," he admits.

"Well good," she says, "because this guy is trying to slide you a lot of money to pull down your account and get in touch with him. He is _that_ level of interested."

Interested in _him?_

"Are you sure you have the right number?"

"There's only one Hal Jordan on the site," she says. "I'm going to give you a number, and I'm going to just pull down your profile myself. He wanted you to text."

She gives him a number, says her goodbyes, and then hangs up. By the time the call is over, Hal's wandered into Barry's kitchen and he's staring down at the notepad he stole to write it all down, wondering where exactly his life went wrong.

Maybe he should just call Batman. Maybe he should just tell him he needs the money. He'd probably put him up in the Watchtower if he asked. It's not like he's spending all his time on Earth or anything...

Hal gets halfway through dialing when his pride stops him. His stupid, stupid pride.

Instead, he punches in the number he was just given, nearly hitting the dial button when he remembers he was supposed to text.

Texting is not a fun experience on such an old phone, but by god he's going to try. He types out the first message seven or eight different ways before he finally settles on something simple.

 **Hal J:** Hey, this is Jordan. Sally said you wanted to talk to me?

He waits, bouncing on the balls of his feet impatiently, and then realizes it could be hour—

His phone vibrates in his hand, and Hal drops down onto the couch, settling in to read.

 **Rich G:** I'm interested. Did you take down your profile?

 _Rich G. Rich Guy._ He can't be serious, can he?

 **Hal J:** Sally said it's been taken down. You can check if you want, I'm not near a computer right now.

Which is a lie. Barry's got one, but Hal is _not_ using Barry's computer to go on a sugar baby site.

 **Rich G:** Looks good. You anywhere near the tristate area?

He isn't even close, but Hal _can_ fly, so that's not really an issue.

 **Hal J.:** Over in New York. You in that area?

 **Rich G.:** Sure am. There's a nice little cafe in downtown New York City. Why don't we meet there for breakfast tomorrow and we can hash out the details?

Rich—there's _no way_ that's his actual name—gives him an address and a time, and Hal says he'll be there. Barry's out working, so Hal leaves a note and a message on his answering machine, letting him know something came up, and then packs what he's got before heading out.

It's a long, boring flight, and it gives him plenty of time to think about what a dumbass he is. It's not like he can't take care of himself (at this point, he'd almost welcome someone trying to mug him), but the whole thing is just... well, it's a bad idea. A really bad idea. He's going to meet someone who's probably some greasy old man to... to what, offer up his ass? For _cash?_

Halfway there, Hal makes a decision: if things don't go amazingly (and they're not going to), he's going to carry right on down to the Watchtower and tell Batman he needs the money.

* * *

Realistically speaking, Hal _really_ should have seen this coming. The whole thing from the very start screamed too good to be true.

Hal's not self-hating or anything, but he's realistic. Most of the best parts of himself aren't things he can share with just anyone. He's flakey. He can't hold a job.

Or at least that's what he's telling himself as he scans the cafe and comes up blank.

It's not very busy, but most of the tables have groups. There's only two people flying solo, and one of them is a seventy year old woman while the other's a goddamn college student.

Hal has a pretty good picture in his head of what he should be seeing, and he's not seeing them. There's no middle aged guy. Not even any older guy. There's no one who could be his mystery man, and he's already five minutes past the meeting time.

He nearly leaves, but he second guesses himself, pulling his phone out and fidgeting with it a bit before sending a text.

 **Hal J:** You running late?

The response is immediate.

 **Rich G:** Nope, I'm here.

Which doesn't make any sense. Hal takes another look around the cafe (maybe they're tucked away in a back corner?) and doesn't see a damn thing.

 **Hal J:** Where?

 **Rich G:** Try actually looking.

Hal does. He gives the room another scan and then double takes.

One of the two people sitting alone—the guy he brushed off as a college student—is looking at him with a phone in one hand. He's got a fancy coffee in the other, and appears to be leisurely sipping it as he makes eye contact with Hal.

Which means _he's_ the one.

Only Hal doesn't want to believe it. He _can't_ believe it, so he lifts his phone, sending one last text.

 **Hal J.:**??

He's close enough to see the college kid's phone vibrate, and time seems to slow down as he watches the guy punch in a response.

 **Rich G.:** Surprise.

Hal's still having a hard time believing it. The guy—maybe he's not a college student, but he's absolutely that age—can't even be twenty five. He's dressed in a button up polo shirt and slacks that probably cost more than a cheap car, and his black hair's neatly combed back.

There's no avoiding it: _Rich G._ is hot. Actually hot. Genuinely, alarmingly hot. Younger than Hal would normally go for by a mile, but _insanely_ attractive.

Hal makes an effort to scrape his jaw off the floor and heads over to the guy's table.

"You're... Rich?" He asks, raising an eyebrow. There's absolutely no way to avoid the double entendre there.

"Richard, actually," the guy says. He looks amused, like the whole thing is one great big joke to him. "But I go by Dick."

But he _goes by Dick._

"You've got to be kidding me," Hal mumbles, sinking down into the seat opposite of _Dick._

"Afraid not," Dick says, slurping obnoxiously at his drink. "It wouldn't let me register as _Dick_ for reasons which I feel are obvious, and _Richard_ seemed pretty long."

When he explains it like that, it almost seems _sensible,_ even if he's talking about the fact that he registered as _Rich G._ on a site for sugar babies.

"Not what you expected?" Dick adds.

No kidding.

"Not even slightly," Hal admits.

Dick's eyebrows go up ever so slightly, and he sips his drink again.

"And seeing me doesn't... change your mind, or anything?"

"Don't see why it would," Hal says. "Honestly, this works out great for me. I was expecting someone... well, a lot older than me. Getting all the way here and finding someone who looks like you... well, it was a pleasant surprise."

Understatement right there.

Dick seems to be thinking it over, and Hal realizes that there's two sides to the issue.

"I guess I'm not what you expected?"

"Oh no," Dick says. "You're pretty much exactly what I expected. I was just thinking about... complications with this sort of thing."

Up close, he's definitely young. Twenty, maybe?

"This is going to be a... a very direct question," Hal says. "But how old are you even?"

"Old enough," Dick says, and when Hal gives him an annoyed look he clarifies. "Nineteen. I'll be twenty soon."

Nineteen. He's not even twenty and he's getting a sugar... sugar baby? Calling it that seems wrong, because Hal is _way_ older, and trying to wrap his head around it is giving him a headache already.

Hal drops his voice, speaking quietly.

"I mean, this is _really_ good for me, but... are you sure about this? Someone like you could snag any girl—or guy—in any college in the country."

No point mincing words.

"And if I liked older men?"

"You could still snag basically anyone," Hal says. "I... being realistic, this feels a bit lopsided."

He should have seen this coming. He should have realized he'd feel this way. Maybe if he was older, he'd feel less like he's taking advantage of the kid, but the fact that he's so _young_ and so obviously _doesn't_ need a sugar _anything_ is killing Hal.

"You're right," Dick says, leaning forward slightly. "It is a bit lopsided. After all, we're doing a lot of talking about me, and not much talking about you. So why don't you talk about yourself a bit?"

That catches Hal off guard, and he takes a second to register that the table's just been turned on him.

"Well... what did you want to know?"

"What got you into this? Is it your first time?"

"Uh... Well, money, honestly. I have a... a _thing_ that makes having a steady nine-to-five kind of difficult. Getting a job is hard, keeping one is harder, and something like this seemed more like it would... fit my requirements. But no, I haven't done this before."

Dick tilts his cup back, draining it dry, and then sets it down on the table.

"I've got a place nearby, why don't we go over there and we can talk with some more privacy?"

Going to a strange place with a strange man is the exact sort of thing people are always telling each other not to do, but Hal isn't particularly worried. The ring will protect him from the worst of it, and even _without_ his ring he's pretty confident he can handle himself.

"Sure," he says. "How far?"

* * *

Dick's place turns out not to be Dick's place at all. It turns out to be a room he's booked at an upscale hotel, and the place seems so damn fancy that Hal immediately feels out of place. Dick breezes right past the front desk, and to Hal's immense surprise actually keeps his hands to himself on their way up.

In fact, he doesn't really talk at all until they're safely inside the room, at which point he flops down into one of the high backed chairs, gesturing for Hal to sit.

"So," Dick says. "We're doing this?"

"Unless you don't want to."

Dick doesn't actually answer that, which Hal thinks is suspicious.

"Rules," Dick says. "Expectations. We should probably lay that out."

"I can't be on call twenty-four seven," Hal says.

"Because of your... thing," Dick says knowingly, and Hal nods. He doesn't want to get into it. Hell, he has no idea _how_ he'd get into it. He can't just tell a guy he just met about the corps. He'd think he was crazy, and if he showed him the ring... Well, Hal doesn't even want to think about that.

"Yeah," he says.

"So, since you won't be free all the time, new rule instead: you let me know when you're free, and I can adjust accordingly."

It feels like Hal should be the one adjusting for _him,_ but that's not really an option. The corps has to come first.

"Any rules otherwise?" Dick asks.

"Uh... I mean, not that I can think of?" Hal says. It's the sort of thing he probably should have looked up ahead of time.

"Alright," Dick says, standing up from his seat. "Generally they recommend contracts, but you seem like a pretty upstanding sort of guy, so I'll trust you on this. If either of us have an issue, or something that isn't working for them... they can just say it." He pauses, looking Hal over. "Your clothes?"

Hal looks down. His clothing does _not_ match Dick's. He's got a T-shirt and some well-worn jeans, and precious little else.

"This is what I've got," he admits.

"I'll get you something else to wear," Dick says. His expression is scrutinizing, inspecting Hal from every angle as he considers. "Where are you living? What part of the city?"

Hal's frozen. Does he lie? Does he make up a place? Only he's not fast enough, and Dick gives him a knowing look.

"Between houses?"

"Couch surfing," Hal admits.

"That works better," Dick says. "I have an apartment I'm not using. You can sleep there, which has the added benefit of letting me know when you're free."

Then he seems to second guess himself, looking suddenly nervous. "Assuming that's alright with you."

He just _has a spare apartment?_ How the hell rich is he?

"No, that sounds great," Hal says. "I mean... free apartment."

Which solves a whole lot of his problems in one go, doesn't it?

"And you'll get an allowance," Dick says. "You'll need to feed yourself, I'm not exactly a great chef."

 _And_ an allowance?

The list of things Dick is just _providing_ seems to be getting larger and larger. There has to be a catch, right?

"So... what are your—uh, expectations?"

For someone who looks like Dick does, with the kind of money Dick does... it has to be pretty big. It has to be something pretty awful, for that matter.

"Well, confidentiality, for one," Dick says. "You don't mention me or my name to anyone."

"Of course."

Easy enough. Hal's gotten pretty used to not mentioning anything to anyone.

"And..." Dick pauses to consider, tapping his fingers along his arm as he considers. "I suppose we'll go from there."

What?

"That's it?" Hal asks, raising an eyebrow. "You don't... I mean, I was definitely expecting something... extreme."

"Oh no," Dick says. "Nothing crazy."

Well that doesn't make any sense. Dick is... well, unless he turns out to be a serial killer, he's suspiciously close to the _complete package._ There's absolutely no sensible reason why he'd need to pay someone a ton of money for what he could absolutely get for free.

Hell, he looks so good lots of people would probably pay _him_ for his time.

"No... wild kinks?" Hal speculates. Maybe spending money on people _is_ his kink. That would be convenient.

Dick gets up from his seat, heading over to the room's kitchenette, and grabs one of those five dollar bottles of water the hotel always leaves. He cracks it open, gulping it down as Hal watches, and then strides across the room, setting it down on the table in front of Hal.

"No wild kinks," he says. "Probably. I'd like to think this will involve a level of... self-discovery." That's one way of putting it.

Dick leans down. It's slow and obviously telegraphed, giving Hal time to get the hell out of dodge if he wants to. Dick tangles his fingers into Hal's shirt, pulling him up slightly before pressing his lips against Hal's own.

Dick is an _alarmingly_ good kisser. He knows just how to do it, just the right amount of pressure, just the right amount of teeth. Hal does what he can to return the favor, but kissing has never been a strong point of his, and he's suddenly very aware of that fact as Dick presses down on him.

Hal finds himself breathless when Dick breaks the kiss, a devious little smile on his lips.

"Why don't we go to the bedroom?" Dick suggests. "Give this a proper try."

God yes. Hal doesn't want to admit it, but he's half-hard already just from a _kiss,_ and he's all too eager to get up, trailing Dick into a bedroom larger than Hal's last apartment. The bed's soft as can be, and Hal spends a moment just pressing his hand down into it, enjoying the way it feels, before he's abruptly pushed down onto the bed.

He splutters, sitting up, and when he looks at Dick there's a look in the young man's eyes that's downright _predatory._

Oh crap, Hal realizes. The whole time he's been imagining a _very_ different situation than what's about to happen.

Not that he minds, if he's being honest with himself.

Dick is a _very_ passionate lover. He showers Hal's body with kisses and bites, peeling off bit of clothing after bit of clothing. Hal's down to his boxers before Dick even bothers to take his shirt off, and that is... that is something. It is a _view._

"You could be a model," Hal mutters. Even as he says it, he regrets doing so. Dick has plenty of small scars, the kind that hint at a much harder life than most models would have had. Hal catches himself tracing one on Dick's upper arm, and Dick leans down, kissing at his lips again.

Hal honestly isn't used to having so much attention focused on him. Dick is downright _overwhelming,_ and Hal feels almost giddy as Dick trails kisses down his stomach.

For the most part, Hal feels like he's being carried along. He's not much of an active participant, in _well_ over his head as Dick leads the way. Everything Hal is expecting the first time to be like goes flying out the window when Dick dips down between his thighs, drawing Hal's cock into his mouth for the most toe-curling blowjob of his goddamn life.

Why is Dick Grayson so good?

"You'll have to learn how to do that at some point," Dick says as he licks his lips, kissing at Hal's thighs. Hal doesn't know how the hell he's going to make it out of bed, let alone _do_ anything. "Think you can manage to ride?"

"I... uh."

Dick raises an eyebrow.

"Have you ever even been with a guy before?"

"I mean, once," Hal admits. "In high school. It's been a while. I can ride."

Despite his concerns, he _does_ manage to roll himself on top of Dick, taking a moment just to... to take it in. To take in how _alarmingly_ hot Dick Grayson is.

"Do you even know how hot you are?" Hal mutters as he accepts the lube, slicking up his fingers before pressing one in. Dick seems to enjoy the show, reclining on the bed and resting his hands under his head as he watches as Hal squirms on his lap, working himself open finger by finger.

"This is quite a show I'm getting," Dick says, looking amused as Hal reaches down, stroking himself as he does. Dick reaches up, catching his wrist, and then clicks his tongue. "None of that."

Hal feels a shiver run down his spine.

"Yessir," Hal says, and he swears Dick's pupils dilate slightly, his attention caught. His hand reaches up, resting on Hal's thigh, and his thumb digs in slightly, just hard enough to be right on the edge of painful.

Hal doesn't really think it's possible to be a hero and _not_ have a complicated relationship with pain, so at the very least it isn't an unpleasant surprise.

"Dick," he says quietly.

"That isn't what you were calling me before," Dick says as Hal withdraws his fingers. He probably could stand for a bit more stretching, considering how long it's been, but right then he doesn't want to wait.

"Sir," Hal says as he reaches back, grabbing Dick's cock with one messy hand and applying some extra lube.

Dick shivers when he says it, and it's clear from his complicated expression that he's just discovered something about himself that he's maybe not entirely comfortable with.

Hal feels breathless as he lines things up, finally pressing down on Dick's cock. The way Dick's expression twists makes Hal's breath catch in his throat.

"Good," Hal rumbles, grinding down on Dick as he does. Dick arches up against him, and Hal grinds right back down in response.

The pace he sets is probably too fast, but he can't quite bring himself to stop. He doesn't see the point. Instead, he bounces in Dick's lap, pausing every so often just to grind down. His instinct is to reach down and jerk himself off, only Dick's eyes on him—and the reminder of his order—keeps Hal's hands to himself.

When Dick cums, he gives plenty of warning. He chokes out a desperate noise that sounds a lot like _Hal,_ his fingers digging into the flesh of Hal's thighs, and his thrusts become stuttery as he chases his orgasm.

"Fuck!" Dick hisses as he finally finishes, burying himself in Hal's ass. His fingers are digging in so hard that Hal knows he's going to have a whole set of bruises the next morning.

Hal pants heavily as he sags back down, the muscles in his legs starting to cramp from the position. He's surprised—even if he shouldn't be—when Dick's hand comes up, wrapping around Hal's cock and starting to jerk him off. It doesn't take more than a few strokes before Hal cums across Dick's chest with a groan, entire body leaning forward as he does.

Dick leans up almost automatically, catching Hal's lips with his own, and Hal carefully lifts away from him, letting himself fall into bed.

It feels a lot less like a transaction and a lot more like he just slept with a boyfriend. It feels... well, good, and Hal lets himself sag down into the bed with a tired sigh.

Maybe, just maybe, this whole thing won't be so bad after all.


	2. Chapter 2

Hal wants to say that things are going great, only _great_ probably isn't a strong enough word. Things are going amazing. Perfect. He's not sure there's even a word that really encapsulates how good things are going.

He's been seeing Dick Grayson for two months, and he honestly can't remember the last time he was so happy. He's doing great on patrols, and when he comes back to earth after time away, there's always a string of flirty texts waiting for him, along with an open invitation to come over whenever he wants. The apartment Dick's set him up in is great—discrete and classy, but not excessive—and everything else is basically handled. There's always food (or money for food), the bills are all paid, and more than once Dick's come over just to stick Hal in some new clothes just because he _thought he'd look good in them._

So it's a bit of a let down when Barry squints at him when he tells him the truth.

"A sugar daddy," Barry says dryly. "You... have a sugar daddy."

"Say it a bit louder for the people in back, please," Hal says. They're in a cafe, and despite his warning the likelihood that anyone's listening in is slim. He's kept things quiet out of respect for his benefactor, but it's not like he's saying any names when he explains things to Barry. Just _a guy._

A hot guy.

"Sorry, I'm just struggling to process this," Barry says. "I didn't realize things were so desperate."

"It's not... about desperate," Hal says, not wanting to admit that he very much _was_ that desperate. "It's a good system. It works out for me. I've got a place I can go back to after I'm done with work, there's someone excited to see me when I get back, the sex is _fantastic..."_

"I absolutely didn't need to know that," Barry says with a wave of his hand. "Really, the less detail you give on that front, the better. Who have you told?"

"Just you," Hal says. "I don't think it's anyone else's business. I mean, the other Lanterns know I have some place to go now, but they don't really know _why."_

"Alright, I'll bite," Barry says, leaning forward. "Who's the guy? Older, or your age?"

"Younger," Hal confirms. "Like, way younger. College age."

Barry makes a face.

"You're sleeping with a _college student?_ And he's _paying you for the privilege?"_

Hal is of the opinion that it's physically impossible for him not to smirk at that.

"Yep."

"Hal, has it occured to you that this entire thing sounds like... wildly unbelievable? Like, I'm completely putting aside the whole _college student_ thing. Your hours are an absolute nightmare that has absolutely no rhyme or reason to them. You never know when you're going to be around, and you can't give anyone any sort of notice. Being a sugar baby is about making yourself _available,_ and you are... not. You are absolutely not that."

Hal appreciates that Barry didn't go for the very obvious low blow of _you aren't that hot._

"He doesn't mind," Hal says. "When I'm around, he fits me into his schedule. If I'm not... well, he's got other stuff to do."

"Other _people_ to do?" Barry asks, raising his eyebrows.

"Just me," Hal says. "He'd never done this before, and he seemed pretty satisfied."

"Okay, yeah," Barry says. "As your friend I am absolutely raising every red flag on this situation possible. Like... Every single one. This sounds like something out of a horror film."

"Or a lifetime movie."

"Or a horror film, Hal."

"I don't take my ring off," Hal counters. "So it's not like there's any danger. If he tries to stab me, I'll put a stop to it and take off."

Barry drags his hand down his face.

"Please just... be cautious. Be aware. Do you even know who this guy is? Like... who he _really_ is? He probably gave you a fake name."

Which is entirely possible. _Dick_ is a pretty old fashioned nickname.

"I guess I just don't think it matters that much," Hal says. "Like, do I really have any moral high ground when it comes to hiding things from someone?"

He doesn't. Neither does Barry, for that matter. That's the problem with being a hero: you put the people around you at risk. You have to keep secrets. You can't just tell any random person you're dating the truth, which means you have to lie to them for ages before you can finally be honest.

Barry's head _thumps_ onto the table.

"Still haven't told Iris?"

"I keep getting interrupted before I can," Barry groans. "I'm working towards it."

Hal reaches out, patting Barry affectionately on the shoulder.

"I'm afraid you don't have the high ground here, bud."

* * *

But what Barry told him sticks with him, and when Hal gets back to his apartment, he does a simple google search for Dick's name. He's not expecting anything—it probably _is_ a pseudonym—but instead it pops right up.

_Dick Grayson, adopted son of billionaire Bruce Wayne..._

Hal's brain screeches to a halt, and he makes himself reread the opening line of Dick's _wikipedia page_ three more times.

Bruce Wayne? _The_ Bruce Wayne? The guy who almost single-handedly funded the Watchtower?

"Crap."

Some searching pulls up a picture of Wayne with someone who is _definitely_ the Dick he knows, and some more searching confirms more or less every suspicion he has. Dick is _the_ Dick Grayson, which does do a lot to explain just where the money's coming from.

It also brings up a lot of questions, and Hal makes a point of getting ahead of them when he's on Watchtower duty that night.

"Ollie," he says to the other man as they watch the monitors. He gets a dirty look for his trouble, and tries again as Oliver sips his coffee. "Arrow."

It feels weird calling him anything but Ollie, but they're supposed to stick to code names for securities sake.

"Yes, _Lantern?"_ Ollie asks.

"Does the Justice League have a fraternization policy?"

Oliver chokes on his drink, coughing several times to clear his airway before spinning in his seat, staring at Hal.

"Who?"

"That is not something that matters right now," Hal says. "Do we?"

"Diana? It can't be Hawkwoman, isn't she spoken for?"

"They aren't a hero," Hal says before Oliver can speculate any more. "Do we or not?"

"We don't," Oliver confirms. "Who then? You can't just drop this on my lap and _not_ tell me. Does Flash know?"

"Flash does not know who it is. Seriously, I'm not going to say it. It's private."

"I bet Bats knows who it is," Oliver says with a grin. "Probably wouldn't tell me if I asked, though."

Hal groans at the very idea of Batman knowing anything about... any of it. "They're sort of from Gotham, so he probably _would_ know."

Knowing what a Justice League sponsor's son is getting up to in his spare time sounds exactly like the kind of crazy paranoia Bats would get up to in his spare time.

"How can someone be _sort of_ from Gotham?"

"They're not a League member," Hal restates, wary of saying too much. "They're related to someone who's sort of like... not quite a member."

Oliver looks confused.

"Support staff?"

"Something like that."

Oliver swirls the coffee in his mug, obviously still trying to figure out who it is.

"Seriously," Hal says desperately. "Stop trying to figure it out."

"Easy for you to say," Oliver says with a shake of his head. "Your friend didn't just drop the greatest mystery of the last year in your lap."

"And what mystery would that be?" Batman asks from behind them, and Hal jumps, shooting Oliver the most intense look he can muster. He does _not_ want to have that conversation with Batman. Absolutely not.

"Nothing," Oliver says. "Just watching the monitors."

Batman grunts and gives them both a look that Hal is very disapproving under the cowl, and then turns away, leaving them behind.

"Spooky," Oliver says once he's out of earshot. "You're lucky, because if he was a bit more friendly, I'd probably just ask."

* * *

The longer it goes on, the more convinced Hal becomes that Batman _does_ know. He's never been friendly to anyone (not by a long shot), but it feels increasingly obvious to Hal that Batman doesn't like him in particular. It's bad enough that Barry actually pulls him aside after a particularly scathing mid-meeting lecture to check on him.

"What did you _do?"_ Barry asks, pulling his hood off _just_ to raise an eyebrow at Hal.

"Who said I did anything?"

"Listen, Bats is many things, but he doesn't get randomly pissy like that for no reason. Does this have something to do with your... _beau?"_ Barry punctuates the word with more eyebrow wiggling.

"Put your mask back on," Hal says with a grunt. "No. Maybe. Probably."

"That means yes," Barry says, pulling his hood back over his eyes. "Have you considered the issue might be that he _doesn't_ know what's going on?"

"You're going to have to explain that one."

"You're staying in Gotham, right?"

"Right outside it."

"Is it possible he thinks you're muscling in on his territory? You know how he gets whenever anyone tries to go near it. Supes flies near the city edge and I swear Bats flies out to growl in his direction until he leaves."

That seems... plausible. Hal's pretty sure his worst fears are true and that Batman _does_ know what's going on, but it's also just as possible that what Barry guessed was true.

"Should I... talk to him?"

"I mean, you're already in the worst case scenario," Barry says. "He can't really kick you off the League for it, and he doesn't seem like the type who'd out you if he _does_ know the truth, so I don't see how it can hurt."

Hal isn't sure he agrees, considering Barry is a lot more optimistic about how other people will react than he is, but he supposes that it _is_ probably the truth. He might as well try.

But he doesn't get a chance until almost two weeks later. Two weeks and three visits with Dick, who remains blissfully ignorant of the sort of strain the relationship is causing to Hal's poor job situation.

Not that it's a relationship. It's... it's something. It's a business transaction, Hal reminds himself. It's not a _relationship._

"Hey, Bats?" Hal asks, before correcting himself. "Batman?"

Batman grunts, not looking up from the computer. They're both on monitor duty, which is relatively rare, and a part of Hal is surprised Bats is even willing to deal with him considering how hostile he's been.

"I was hoping to talk to you about... stuff," Hal says.

"Then talk."

It's not exactly the open discussion he was hoping for, but Hal goes for it anyway.

"I'm not sure what you know about—"

"Everything," Bats says, which derails _that_ entire line of thought.

Hal takes a second to regain his composure. It's not that he's intimidated by Bats—not really—but instead the fact that Bats is most definitely one of the core members of the League. If he brought it up with the rest... well, regardless of what Barry things, Hal knows it could go badly for him.

"Well," Hal says, doing his best to be diplomatic, "I wanted to make it clear I'm not muscling in on your territory. I'm not going to patrol in Gotham or anything like that."

Batman turns to stare at him, his impression as blank as ever and completely impossible to read.

"I know you're probably not happy with it, but it's my own private relationship, and even if Wayne's from Gotham, it's not..."

Hal trails off.

Batman is _smiling_ at him.

Batman is _amused._

"Of course," Batman says. "And I trust you won't do anything to drag the League's name through the mud."

There is a very clearly implied _or else_ hanging in the air.

"Of course not," Hal says. "Completely above the board. He doesn't even know I'm on the League. We're not at... at that stage." He's not sure they're ever going to be at that stage. He's not sure there _are_ stages. "So... we're good?"

"No," Batman says. "But I understand I've been... aggressive lately. Superman made that clear to me a few days ago, so I'll do what I can to dial it back."

Hal owes Superman big time.

"Thanks," he says. "I'll... uh, do my best to keep it from blowing back on you."

"That would be appreciated," Batman says tersely. Whatever understanding they had isn't going to get Hal far, but at least it's better than nothing.


	3. Chapter 3

When Hal wakes, it's to Dick getting out of bed. It's not uncommon—they both have absolutely awful hours—and he's too exhausted after a  _ very _ long night to be bothered actually getting out of bed. He simply lays there like a big lump as Dick leaves, only he doesn't actually get a chance to get back to sleep before his phone beeps.

He rolls over, grabbing it to find a message from Guy.

**Guy G:** Are you ignoring your ring again?

Hal doesn't  _ mean _ to ignore it, but ignoring it is an unfortunate byproduct of keeping it out of sight. He can't risk a distress call coming through and a hologram popping up in the middle of him messing around with Dick.

He does  _ not _ want to get caught with his pants down.

**Hal J:** In the other room.

The fact that Guy's texting him means it's probably trouble.

**Guy G:** Rise and shine, sunshine, we've got work.

Thirty minutes later, Hal's suited up and heading towards Gotham. Gotham is  _ not _ the place he wants to head considering his strained relations with Batman. It's been almost two months since his little  _ lecture, _ and while things are better, they're still not great. He spots Guy glowing just above the bay and drops down to meet him, coming to a halt just above the water's surface.

"Awww," Guy says with a grin, "did I interrupt the lovebirds?"

"It isn't like that," Hal insists immediately, double checking his appearance to make sure Guy isn't reacting to something he can see. The last thing he needs is to show up to something with Batman with a hickey peeking out from his uniform.

"Sure seems like it's like that."

Despite his attempts to be  _ professional, _ there's simply no way to hide something like a relationship while spending so much time in space with a group like the Lanterns. They all know, although how  _ much _ they know varies.

Hal's pretty sure that Kyle and Guy just think he's  _ dating _ Dick, while John managed to sniff out the actual truth shockingly quickly.

"Just tell me about the mission," Hal says, checking the charge on his ring.

"We've got Galboxian contraband getting smuggled in from off-planet," Guy says. "Superman cleaned up the group connected to it yesterday, but some of it's already been sold to Gotham. He told me about it, and then Bats walked in, so now we get to collaborate."

"I bet he loves that," Hal grumbles, and Guy laughs.

"Oh, you bet. Pretty sure he's not talking to Superman at all right now. He's like a sulky child."

But it isn't just Batman when they head to the meeting point. He's brought Nightwing and whoever the newest Robin is with him, and none of them look terribly happy to be there.

"Let's get this over with," Batman barks. "We have two addresses to check in on. Get there, find the contraband, and let's be done."

"I guess we're splitting up?" Guy says. "Because I—"

"I'll be going with Jordan," Batman says immediately. Guy pauses, obviously taken aback, and then glances between Jordan and Batman, his face twisting into a grin.

"Oh Bats... I didn't know you cared."

Robin snickers in the background, and Nightwing smacks his forehead.

"Guy," Hal says with a sigh. "Stop antagonizing Batman."

"But he makes it so easy!" Guy says with a laugh. Batman looks an inch away from actually growling at him, so Hal reaches out, catching Guy's collar and hauling him towards the kids. "Guess I get to play with the junior varsity squad instead! But don't worry, Bats. We can have plenty of fun next time!"

He winks at Batman, who somehow discovers the ability to scowl even harder.

* * *

Hal doesn't want to say things go  _ badly, _ but he's very firmly of the opinion that things could have gone better. By the time he gets back to his apartment he smells faintly of smoke, ducking into the shower to drown himself in the strawberry scented shampoo Dick insists on buying him. 

The bathroom door cracks open, and Dick leans in the door, looking flushed. His hair is still damp like he just finished a shower himself, but that doesn't stop him from stepping inside, already starting to peel his clothes off in anticipation of fun times.

"I should warn you," Hal says. "I'm sore."

Every time he has to say something like that he expects Dick to ask  _ why, _ but he never does. Hal's pretty sure Dick thinks he's in a  _ less than reputable _ field, because what else could explain the insane hours or the bruises? The idea that Dick thinks that of him bothers him, but it's not as if there's another option. Revealing his status as a Lantern would be sketchy enough if they were dating, let alone... well, whatever they have.

Because they're not dating, even if Hal feels like he's having to remind himself of that a  _ lot. _

Dick takes advantage of his distraction to plant a kiss on Hal's shoulder, lips ghosting over a bruise there.

"Be more careful with yourself," he says. "You should know I'm going to be really upset if you get yourself hurt and I have to take care of you."

And that, right there, is the problem. The fact that Dick screws him in the shower until his legs won't hold his weight anymore? Expected. The fact that Dick showers him in gifts? Standard.

But the fact that Dick shows so much interest in his well being? Definitely not what anyone would expect from a sugar daddy.

But at the same time, Hal doesn't dislike it... and that, right there, is the problem.


	4. Chapter 4

This is a point somewhere along the line that Hal realizes they're actually fighting for their lives. Maybe it shouldn't actually be shocking to him considering how often that happens, but every time the realization hits it's like he starting fresh. Every time it hits, he can't stop himself from struggling to process the reality of it.

He _has_ to focus. He _has_ to pay attention.

It he doesn't, people are going to get hurt.

He swings, and as he does the massive baseball bat he's made swings with him, knocking the invaders to the side. Already he can see the canon charging up, but he's too far. He's not going to make it in time, not going to be able to stop it before it fires. He uses his ring to launch a ship—a whole damned _Titanic—_ at it, but he's still not fast enough.

Something hits Hal in the side and he blacks out.

When he wakes, his head is spinning. There's a green dome over his head and a smudge of black in his line of sight, and for a moment he thinks it's Dick.

Then his vision swims back into focus and he realizes his mistake. It's not Dick—it's just Nightwing, leaning over to make sure he doesn't die, probably for Batman's benefit.

Hal's pretty sure Batman doesn't like him much, but he's at least confident in the fact that Batman would be _really_ upset if a member of the League bit it on his watch.

Well, that and the fact that Hal biting it would mean he'd have to deal with Guy twice as much.

"Pretty sure he's got a concussion," Guy says, leaning over Hal, "so I'm thinking we should just hang tight and keep him from dying until the worst is over."

Hal likes that plan. He likes the plan that does not involve him moving at all.

Mercifully, no one makes him move. He stays right where he is until the shield is suddenly down, and Guy scoops him up in what amounts to a giant hand, lifting him off the ground.

"I'll take him," Nightwing says. He's turned away, talking to Guy, and Hal's only catching half the conversation, but there's still a familiarity there that feels like it's scratching at his brain. The problem is that his brain feels like it just went through a blender, and he can't actually manage to _think_ about it at all.

"You?"

"He's from Bludhaven," Nightwing says. "I can get him back safely."

"I probably should..."

"I can manage it. You need to stay here and handle the Lantern response. We _are_ supposed to be allies, Guy. You can trust me."

Whatever Guy says in response Hal misses completely. He's not sure if Nightwing's really fast, or if he just misses a few seconds of time, but suddenly Nightwing's scooping him up in his arms.

He's stronger than he looks.

Hal can count the number of times he's worked with Nightwing on one hand, and in another circumstance he'd be freaked out about the idea of Nightwing taking him home. But Nightwing _is_ the only hero who works in Bludhaven, and Hal doesn't have the energy to protest.

The trip back home feels like hitting the skip button on a video online. Nightwing's picking him up. Skip. Nightwing's loading him into a car. Skip. They're in front of the apartment block Hal calls home.

"Oh no," Hal mumbles, squeezing his eyes shut. "You can't—I can do it. I can make it." He goes to remove his uniform only to discover that his uniform is already off, and he can't remember when he lost it. He must have passed out.

"I'm taking you inside," Dick—no, _Nightwing—_ says. Which is the problem.

"You can't," Hal mumbles, trying to get upright. He manages to get on his feet, but he can't quite get his balance as Nightwing wraps his arm across Hal's back, keeping him upright.

"I can," Nightwing says. "You'll be just fine, come on."

He can't. He can't just walk into the building, even though as he thinks it he registers he's already in the elevator.

"He'll see," Hal mumbles.

Nightwing gives him a funny look.

"Who?"

He can't say _my sugar daddy,_ so Hal says the next best thing.

"Boyfriend."

Nightwing reaches down with his free hand, grabbing the front of Hal's shirt, and uses it to help him stay on his feet.

And then, alarmingly, he kisses him. Hal's not sure if he's even understanding the situation right, but he does what he can to break the kiss, making a noise of alarm.

"Can't," he mumbles. "Boyfriend."

"You definitely have a concussion," Nightwing says as he hauls Hal out of the elevator. "That is the _only_ reason you're getting a pass for rejecting me."

Hal doesn't get it. He really doesn't get it, not even when Nightwing lets himself into the apartment, guiding Hal into the bedroom like he's familiar with the place.

Not even when he sits Hal down on the bed.

No, Hal only gets it when Dick leans down, planting a gentle kiss on his forehead, and then pats his cheek.

"...Dick," he mumbles. He knows that gesture. That's Dick. It doesn't make sense, but it's Dick anyway.

"This wasn't supposed to be a dramatic reveal," Dick mumbles. "But you had to go and get punched by an alien."

"I do that a lot," Hal mumbles.

Dick makes him drink an entire glass of water before he starts peeling Hal's clothing off, tucking him into the bed like the world's sexiest nurse.

"Sleep," Dick says. "You're going to need it."

* * *

Hal wakes curled up in bed with the world's worst headache. He doesn't think he's _ever_ had a headache half as bad as the one he has right then.

His groan apparently summons Dick, who comes with treats. He's got more water that he forces Hal to eat, and then a stack of hard-boiled eggs that he feeds to Hal as he sits on the edge of the bed.

"You're Nightwing," Hal finally manages to mumble.

"Yep."

"...And you didn't tell me."

"And _you_ didn't tell _me_ you were Green Lantern, so you can't get on my case about that one."

Hal supposes that's fair.

"But I knew," Dick adds, and Hal looks away from his egg to squint at Dick.

"You knew?"

"Hal, do you _really_ think it's a coincidence that one member of the Justice League _just so happened_ to find another on a sugar site? I was joking around with friends when someone pulled up the site and your face was _right_ on the front page. I thought I'd meet up with you, give you a lecture about internet safety, and call it a day. But then I realized you had _no idea_ who I was, and..."

"Too many words," Hal mumbles. His head is throbbing.

"Eat another egg," Dick says. "Then go back to sleep."

Hal really, _really_ wants to have that conversation right then, but his brain hurts too bad to argue. He eats his last egg and then curls up in bed, letting Dick tuck him in before giving him another little kiss on the forehead.

He's asleep before Dick's even out of the room.

<hr>

The next time Hal wakes up he still has a headache, but it's more the I-drank-too-much sort of headache rather than an-alien-punched-me-through-a-wall sort of headache. Dick is also not home, which allows Hal to maintain his dignity when he's forced to shuffle to the bathroom to relieve himself.

Dick doesn't get back for almost another hour, which gives Hal time to torture himself through a cool shower, but not enough time to actually manage to make food. When Dick gets back he finds him in the kitchen, and proceeds to immediately steer him right out, planting him onto the couch and refusing to let him leave.

"Sit," he says. "I'm going to make you... I don't know. Oatmeal."

"I want pizza."

"Of course you want pizza," Dick says, "but you're getting oatmeal."

Dick does indeed make him oatmeal, and he doesn't let Hal get up until he's eaten the whole damned thing.

"You're a drill sergeant," Hal mumbles.

"Yeah, well, if you're not going to take care of yourself, someone has to."

Hal reaches up, wrapping an arm around Dick's waist before pulling him down into his lap. It's a monumentally bad idea considering the headache he still has, but he wants Dick in his lap more than he wants his head to not hurt.

"You knew from the start," Hal says flatly. "This _does_ answer a whole lot of questions I had."

"Oh, we're doing this now?" Dick says, leaning back so his back rests against the arm of the couch. "I knew from the start, yeah. It wasn't supposed to be... I wasn't trying to _trick_ you. It just seemed like you needed some help, and I wanted to... to let you keep your dignity."

"Pretty sure I was fresh out of dignity right around the time I signed up to be a sugar baby, Dick."

"Don't give me that," Dick says. "You've got plenty of dignity left."

Hal leans over, resting his head against Dick's shoulder as he lets his eyes drift halfway closed.

"...What are we going to do now?"

Dick reaches up, cradling the back of Hal's head before pulling him in for a kiss. It doesn't last long, but the taste of Dick is enough to rile Hal up anyway, which is a _truly_ awful idea.

"Well... you _did_ call me your boyfriend," Dick says. "I was thinking we could go from there."

"...As boyfriends?"

"As boyfriends," Dick confirms, leaning forward to kiss Hal's forehead again. "...Especially since this apartment is _way_ more convenient to my job then the place I'm living."

"So what I'm hearing is that you're moving in with me into this apartment which you own."

"More or less."

A realization hits Hal and he can't stop himself from bursting into laughter. It takes him a minute to pull himself together, wiping at his eyes and trying to ignore his throbbing head as Dick stares at him like he's nuts.

"I _just_ realized why Batman hates my guts."

"Oh my god," Dick mutters under his breath. "Really? _That_ was your realization?"

"He must be miserable. You've got a boyfriend twice your age which is bad enough, and on top of that you managed to pick a _Lantern_ of all possible people on Earth."

"Or off Earth, in this case. But you need to be in bed."

"I'll go to bed if you join me," Hal says.

Dick smirks down at him, reaching down to drag his fingers across a particularly large bruise.

"I'll join you... but no funny business. I'm not going to take you to the doctor because I upgraded your concussion to a brain injury by being too enthusiastic."

"You always were too enthusiastic," Hal mutters.

He spends the rest of the day sprawled out in bed with his back to Dick's chest. Eventually they're going to have to tell the League. Eventually he's going to have to talk to Batman about things.

But right then? Right then he's happy where he is.


End file.
